


The Queen's Mistake

by Steerpike13713



Series: The Death of Koschei the Deathless [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Enabran Tain's A+ Parenting, Fake Character Death, Gen, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, gloating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steerpike13713/pseuds/Steerpike13713
Summary: “Are you angry with me?” she asked, unable to keep the smile out of her voice, knowing that she had wounded him.“What would I be angry with you for?” Koschei replied, in a tone that would have sounded carefully noncommittal, to one who did not know him.“I expect I’ll have done something to offend your delicate sensibilities.” She paused, and then added. “Unless it’s about that mortal plaything of yours. I had heard that you finally tired of…what was his name? Skrain? Retel?”“Elim.”





	The Queen's Mistake

It was storming when she reached the bridge of swords. This was, in itself, no great surprise. It was always storming at the Chernosvyat, save when its master was absent, and then there would be no point in visiting, for the castle kept Koschei’s secrets for them, and guarded them as jealously as any dragon its hoard. All the same…tonight the storm that wreathed the castle was strange, cold, without rain. A storm as unnatural as the creature that had summoned it, and that was not a comfortable thought. It was far too easy to forget, face-to-face, that the Deathless was more than just a man, however immortal, however great in magic. A mortal sorcerer might be danger, but the Deathless was the storm made flesh, ancient and terrible and treacherous as the sea. And yet, still a man, with a man’s weaknesses. Her mother had known that, and exploited it, but she had not gone far enough, or perhaps she had not imagined any of the Deathless’s parade of petty mistresses could mean anything to him, when he had held and lost Cora’s heart already. Regina held no such illusions. In this regard, Koschei was a man like any other. Besides, he’d never bothered to _marry_ any of the others, and even if it had been a deal that had made his whey-faced sycophant of a tailor accept the Deathless’ hand, Koschei had power enough that nothing could have compelled him to make such a deal but that he had actually wanted the man. Quite what could have so shifted Koschei’s tastes, Regina did not know – as she remembered it, his inclinations had run more towards pretty, bright-eyed, flighty young things, generally named Yelena or Vasilisa or something of that nature, which she supposed cut down on the need to learn any more names than absolutely necessary. Every single one of them had left Koschei for another man after a time, a disproportionate number of whom had been named Ivan. Perhaps his middle-aged castle tailor had meant to do the same, although, really, what other man would want him?

The great doors stood unlocked, just as they always had, as such things as locks and bolts had never made any difference to Koschei and thus he had never seen why they should make any difference to anyone else either. All the same, there was something oppressive about the air of the place now. There was no reason it should have been darker, not at this hour of the day, with cold, clear mountain sunlight shining off the snow outside so brightly it was nearly blinding, and yet even Regina had trouble picking her way through the gloom, doing her best to avoid the vermin that Koschei allowed to crawl through his halls without ever appearing to care for the mess and destruction they ought to have brought with them. While gods knew Koschei was far from houseproud, he’d started keeping the place in better repair a little more than a year ago. She hadn’t expected to see the old place fall back into decay so quickly. The place obeyed its master’s whims with no apparent effort from Koschei, more an extension of the Deathless’ will than a stronghold now, after all these centuries. And yet…it was not quite the desolation she might have hoped for. The rooms might be dark, but they were orderly and clear of dust, the castle maintained as well as it had ever been. Had she miscalculated? Koschei had taken enough lovers down the centuries, after all, that losing one more could not mean so very much to him.

It was not hard to find Koschei, in the end. He seemed to spend half his immortal life in his workroom, distilling tinctures for plague and pox and all the other trifling mortal ailments that were, really, no business of an immortal sorcerer. It had always obscurely irritated Regina, how devoted he was to his herbs and potions, when he could reap no benefit and expended no magic in their creation. He was at the alembic even now, his curly head bent to his work as something clear and viscous dripped slowly from the retort. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he had felt her entrance, had probably known she was there from the moment she crossed the bridge of swords. He did not look around as she brushed a few bundles of herbs aside to perch on the edge of the long table. She did, her eyes falling on the portrait on the far wall, between two of the long slit windows.

 _Well_. A much more sentimental attachment than she’d imagined, then, for she could think of no other reason to want _that_ face immortalised in oil and canvas and kept in pride of place, in the room Koschei was fondest of. She had hurt him, then, she knew it, and gloried in it, as once she had gloried in his praise, as a young girl seeking the knowledge and power Koschei held.

“You’ve let your housekeeping slide,” she said with mock-disapproving sweetness.

Koschei shrugged, but didn’t speak, still staring down at the alembic over the flame.

“Aren’t you going to call for tea?” Regina prodded. He always did, whenever she visited, even when she was furious with him, even when he was furious with her. Tea, and thick, sharp gingerbread, and black bread with honey. It had been comforting for her, once, in the early days, when she’d looked on him as something like a favourite uncle. Before he had betrayed her, all but demanded she give up her queenship if she wanted his help to escape Leopold, who had barely so much as glanced her way, and yet kept all other men at a distance. He had offered her paths to other worlds where she would be no higher than any commoner; board in this castle, living off Koschei’s goodwill, and a sorcerer’s kindness was an uncertain thing; he had even presumed to suggest she journey to a distant land within this world, set herself up as a wealthy widow in Agrabah or Arendelle and live a comfortable life in exile. No. She had lost her love and her mother to win a crown. She would not give it up now for anything. He had known, all along, what she had given up, and still, he would not aid her? The fuss he had made over poor, dear, foolish little Snow White, as if the girl had not cost Regina Daniel and her mother both, had only been the last straw. She could no longer rely on Koschei’s regard for an old pupil. She had needed another tool, another hold on him. And then, out of nowhere, he had taken another lover, taken a _husband_ , and Regina had seen her opportunity. It had simply taken her far longer than she expected to make use of it – the tailor had not often left this castle, was too untrusting to respond with anything but insincere, hypocritical cant to her attempts as sympathy – the gods knew Koschei could not be an easy husband for any mortal to bear for long – and, in any case, Regina could not often make the long journey to these forbidding mountain wastes. She did, after all, have a kingdom to run.

“I think we both know you aren’t here for tea.” Koschei’s voice was soft, and raw, and rough-edged, as it had been during their last argument, and Regina allowed herself a smile.

“Still, the proprieties really ought to be kept up,” she said reprovingly. “Or I might begin to think you don’t like visitors anymore.”

He’d always enjoyed them, in her day. People were, Koschei said, one of the few things left in the world that could still surprise him. It was a ridiculous piece of sentimentality – the average peasant was not likely to interest anyone who did not have a burning passion for pig-breeding – but old sorcerers often developed these funny little ways, and the Deathless was the oldest of them all.

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” Koschei said, fiddling with the alembic. The clear liquid in the alembic’s receiving beaker smoked a little as he reached for something on a higher shelf.

Regina cast an eye over the cluttered, bottle-laden room. “Yes, I can see you’ve been positively exhausted by all these demands on your time.”

“Regina…”

It was not quite a plea. She had him.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked, unable to keep the smile out of her voice, knowing that she had wounded him.

“What would I be angry with you for?” Koschei replied, in a tone that would have sounded carefully noncommittal, to one who did not know him.

“I expect I’ll have done _something_ to offend your delicate sensibilities.” She paused, and then added. “Unless it’s about that mortal plaything of yours. I had heard that you finally tired of…what was his name? Skrain? Retel?”

“Elim.”

The way he said the name…it unsettled something in Regina. He had known this mortal just a year, and the man had possessed few enough charms, so far as Regina could see, that this attachment- Was it desperation, she wondered? But then, Koschei had not seemed to have any difficulty in finding willing partners before. He had set up a few as chatelaine here, even, though none of those could command the castle as this ‘Elim’ had, and none had ever been privy to Koschei’s secrets, as the toadlike old spymaster from whom she had bought him seemed to believe the tailor had been.

“…right,” she said, and straightened up for the next line, trying not to make it clear to Koschei how closely she watched him. “Well, you can rest assured I had nothing to do with that tragedy.”

She could _see_ the moment those words struck home, the careful stillness, the way he set down the jar out of which he’d been carefully measuring out musty-smelling yellow flowers, very delicately, as if afraid he’d break it if he didn’t take care. He always had been methodical.

“Tragedy?” he repeated, sounding horribly, horribly confused. It was the tone of a man who already knew the answer, really, but was doing everything he could to convince himself he didn’t.

Regina almost laughed aloud. “You don’t know?” she asked, not even feigning surprise now. She laughed lowly, casting a sideways glance at Koschei, who had turned to face her now, the alembic quite forgotten. “Well,” she said, with satisfaction. “After he got home…his masters were not pleased with him.”

A flinch – a hit, a very palpable hit! – and she let her smile widen still further “You did know, didn’t you?” she added, all sweetness. “Or did you imagine he accepted you for your own sake?”

“I’m not quite that deluded,” Koschei said dryly. “I knew.”

Regina clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Well, whatever he came for, he must have found it. He arrived back in Cardassia…oh, not very long ago. But, of course, after his stay here. His…association…with you…well. No-one wanted to take the risk of what _Koschei the Deathless_ would do to a man known to have broken a bargain with him. They cast him out.”

The knuckles of Koschei’s flesh hand were nearly white where they gripped the edge of the table.

“So, they exiled him.” There was a bitter edge to Koschei’s voice, an odd sort of distance, belied by the look on his face, the vice grip on the table’s edge. “After all he did. I suppose it was inevitable – even if I counted our bargain finished, magic always takes its price.”

Regina laughed aloud. “They _were_ cruel to him,” she taunted, enjoying the way Koschei’s face twisted with shock and pain as she went on. “I suppose he knew too much. No master of whisperers would tolerate such a loose end, not when the matter could be so easily brought to an end. He didn’t go quickly,” she added, with precision, and saw the dumb animal hurt in Koschei’s face. You never quite forgot that look – the pain and the incomprehension and the grief behind it. Her father had worn it on the morning her mother was found gone. She herself had worn it for Daniel, and Snow for her worthless father. Love made fools of everyone, one way or another. “They wanted secrets, I’m told. Evidently whatever it was he brought them wasn’t enough. They locked him in a tower and tried to work every last scrap of information out of him. But, of course, you never gave him enough. You always were careful with your secrets.” Oh, how she had resented that, the books he had hidden from her, the secrets he had told her were not for her, or anyone, to learn. Let that barb sting for a while, and perhaps he’d learn better. “After a while, he threw himself off the tower. He died.”

Koschei’s knees did not give out under him. He sat down hard anyway, on the edge of his worktable, staring at nothing, and the look on his face was all that Regina could have hoped for.

“A pity,” she began. “I did try to warn you, Koschei – these old men are so very-”

“Get out.”

Koschei’s voice was quiet, but lightning crackled outside the window, thunder boomed, and Regina…well. Her work was done.

“As you wish. I have other calls to make.” She stood, half-expecting him to see her out, but he remained half-slumped by the worktable. Disappointing. “I had best be on my way. My condolences on your sad loss,” she said, knowing it would infuriate him – she had always hated that turn of phrase herself, and she’d had to hear it so often since the old fool Leopold had died. “I hope your next toy is a little more durable.”

There was another crack of thunder outside, so loud she thought for one wild moment that it might bring the whole castle down on their heads, and she was out of the room before she could so much as gauge Koschei’s expression. Just then, she didn’t want to.

She had hurt him, she assured herself. He would not respond like that if she had not. He could be hurt, even through such means as might be used against mortal men and…and perhaps, in time, she would learn another way. She would find the secret to unmaking the Deathless and his power, or she would never be safe.

Perhaps he was in there now, engaging in whatever shows of grief something like him could. It was too much to hope for wailing and screaming and gnashing of teeth, but if she had hurt him there should, she felt, be some other sign.

The castle felt unfriendly now, as it never had before. Its shadows were too long, and fell in the wrong places, and she hurried her steps to leave. She did not want to stay any longer in this castle, if its master had, truly, turned against her.

The storm was raging louder than ever, as she stepped out of the great double doors, but it had changed. Snow was falling now, fat white flakes drifting slowly down out of a storm-lashed sky. Regina stopped. She stared, open-mouthed, at the falling snow.

That was…she had not seen that before. She had known Koschei since she was a girl of nineteen, searching for a mentor. She had thought she knew his moods, his rages, his bursts of enthusiastic good humour, his long depressions. And yet, she had never seen snow come out of one of his storms, even here, so high in the mountains that the absence of snow really ought to have been far more notable than its presence.

Regina turned her back on the Chernosvyat, and mounted the bridge of swords, the perilous drop into the chasm below seeming all at once farther, deeper than it had ever done before. Regina shuddered, and drew her cloak tighter about her, and kept going, step by careful step. Behind her, fresh snow began to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, I know. Don't worry, the 'major character death' warning is not there for a reason. This is, however, going to be important later.


End file.
